


(let’s end this) tragedy tonight

by jugandbettsdetectiveagency



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 3.20 fic, A sprinkling of fluff, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, post ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 02:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18682483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugandbettsdetectiveagency/pseuds/jugandbettsdetectiveagency
Summary: “I love you, too,” he whispers against her mouth, leaning in to seal their lips together briefly, but for long enough that it steals her breath and wipes her mind of every other horrible thought. He crowds her against the counter and Betty welcomes it. “I love doing family things with you.”The burning in his eyes is so intense she has to look away, not wanting to let any more tears fall tonight. Instead she buries her nose in the crook of his neck and breathes.





	(let’s end this) tragedy tonight

**Author's Note:**

> title from take my hand by the cab

_He fooled me._

 

_He fooled me he fooled me he fooled me._

 

_I am a fool._

 

Betty folds her clothes in a monotonous daze, hands moving in practiced, repetitive motions. The way her mother showed her when she was growing up, when they still owned the house on Elm Street. When she still had a father, a hope,  future. The wide-eyed optimism that promised _more_.

 

Because how could there be anything left after this?

 

Her legs crumple beneath her. Betty’s body folds like her laundry, the loud thud of her suitcase being dragged to the floor not even registering over the hideous sob that breaks free from the depths of her chest. She closes her eyes as the tears blur her vision, rolling thick and fast down her cheeks.

 

But in the dark that lurks behind her eyelids the images flash like a macabre showreel.

 

_The Gargoyle King._

 

_The Black Hood._

 

_Edgar Evernever._

 

The bodies, littered like forgotten trash throughout the halls of Riverdale High. Flip for your fate, red and blue, police sirens over and over. Low light glinting off a steel hook, seeking out the thudding pulse in her throat. The blank look in Alice’s eyes as she begged, _pleaded_ with her to understand—this is not something you can ignore, this is not something you can forget.

 

She’s tired. She so fucking tired, down to her bones, to her soul. Her eyes don’t want to open, lead-lined and exhausted, but the memories won’t stop coming. Tattoos. Edgar’s invitation. The feeling of her head nodding in agreement, her lips moving around the word ‘yes’.

 

Trapped inside her own body, Betty does the only thing she can.

 

She screams.

.

.

.

The ceilings of the Pembroke are high. The carpets are soft. There’s golden embossed edging around the arches and the door frames, and not a single thing seems to be out of place. Except for her.

 

Betty sits up slowly, head aching from dehydration, throat raw from screaming.

 

No one had been around to hear her break. The Lodges spent little time at home these days, and Veronica had some business to take care of at _La Bonne Nuit_ or something of the kind. Betty’s head hurts too much when she tries to think. She was a fool.

 

Her hands feel so cold as she tries to haul herself to her feet and reassemble her half-packed suitcase. Now that she thinks about it a shiver runs through her entire body, teeth a second away from physically chattering. Cold and numb, Betty speeds through the rest of her packing, her belongings frightfully little these days anyway, and turns to leave.

 

The car is parked out front when she reaches the curb, keys dangling limply from her fingers. Energy waning, ridiculous tears spring to her eyes because she just doesn’t _want to_.

 

She doesn’t want to drive, to The Farm, to anywhere. She wants to be bundled into the backseat like she used to be when she was a child. She wants her head to loll against the passenger door, steady vibrations from the road lulling her to sleep along with the low hum of her parents’ hushed voices in the front. She wants to pretend to be unwakable when they pull into the driveway, and carried safely up the front steps to her room.

 

She wants to be held— _god_ , she wants to be touched and not feel her muscles coil, ready to flinch away from the next thing trying to inflict harm. She wants pink wallpaper and floral sheets and the sound of Archie practicing guitar until her ears are ringing.

 

Betty lets her belongings drop to the sidewalk, licking her lips dry, before pulling out her phone.

 

She dials.

.

.

.

They’re quiet as they drive at first. Jughead hadn’t said anything when he pulled up in the Ford, just picked up her stuff and gently guided her over to the door. He fastens her seatbelt, stopping to press a light kiss to the side of her head when he pulls back. Betty lets a slow breath pass through her lips, willing herself not to flinch. Her fingers curl and flex atop her thighs, and when Jughead has put the truck in gear he leaves an upturned palm on the bench.

 

Betty counts backwards from ten before sliding her hand into his and lacing their fingers. He squeezes, the barest of pressure, and her shoulders slump. She brings her other hand over and grips his tightly between them.

 

“It’ll get better, it has to.”

 

What was there left to get better? Everything was in ruins. Wouldn’t it hurt less to just pretend, to do what her mother was doing, and let it all flow over her back like Sweetwater River and pretend she wasn’t drowning?

 

Perhaps that was Alice’s plan all along. She wasn’t preparing her to be smart and strong and valued. _Sit up straight, Elizabeth. Don’t let your roots grow out too much, Elizabeth. Maintain a high GPA for the Ivy Leagues, Elizabeth._ Smile brightly, look pretty, be perfect perfect perfect, Elizabeth. How many times had she thought she was equipped to make things right, only to have it all thrown back in her face? It was all a pretence, that Cooper facade. She’d learnt that no better than when her father was arrested for being a serial killer. And now she’s finally figured out what it was all for.

 

“I told my mom that The Black Hood fooled me. And I could see that she didn’t care. Because to her that’s the best thing you can be in this world,” she whispers, seeing the words on the page behind her eyes. “A beautiful, little fool.”

 

Jughead snorts softly and it makes her tip her head in his direction. “I hardly think advice from Daisy Buchanan holds any merit.”

 

Betty takes a shaky breath in, lifting herself just enough to meet his concerned gaze. “I’m not sure how much longer I can keep doing this, Jug. It’s insanity. Trying to make it all okay, over and over, and expecting something different…” A sob catches in her throat. His hand tightens, almost painfully

 

“You are not a fool, Betty Cooper. We can fix this, together.”

 

She doesn’t know if she has it left to try anymore.

.

.

.

The porch light is on at the Jones house. The Cooper house. The Jones house. Betty leans heavily on Jughead as they walk up the steps, fingers clutching his hand, his lapel, the front of his shirt—anywhere she can hold onto. It smells different when they finally step over the threshold, only the faintest hint of familiarity still lingering behind the new family that eats and sleeps and lives in this house now.

 

“Welcome home,” Jughead murmurs into her crown, drawing her close. The words taste bittersweet in her mouth. Figuring out how to tell Jughead she wasn’t staying here would take more than she had to give right now. Instead, Betty’s content to breathe him in, pressing the length of her body to his, revelling in how much she loves his arms wrapped around her like nothing else.

 

“Um, hey.” Betty looks up at the sound of a small voice. Jellybean stands, arms folded, one shoulder leaning against the doorway into the kitchen. Her faint scowl reminds Betty so much of the Jughead she knew before they fell in love that she has to stifle a laugh. “Dad’s still not home.”

 

“He’s still at the station?” There’s no surprise in Jughead’s question. They all know everyone’s in for some long nights.

 

Jellybean nods. “Going through crime scene evidence…” she trails off slightly, eyes sliding over to Betty, burrowed beneath her brother’s arm. They all look down quickly.

 

“Okay. Lemme just help Betty upstairs and then I’ll come and throw a pizza in the oven or something.” Jughead readjusts his hold and begins to turn them towards the staircase.

 

“No.” For a moment she doesn’t realise it was her who spoke. “No, I… I’m not ready to go to bed just yet.” _Not alone_ , she thinks, _don’t make me go alone_. Every cell in her body is crying out for sleep, but Betty knows she’ll get no respite if she closes her eyes again now.

 

“You sure?” Jughead asks, the skepticism clear in his raised eyebrow. Betty tilts the corner of her mouth up in a weary smile and nods.

 

“Yeah. Do you have any groceries in? I’m sure I could make something better than frozen pizza with whatever’s in the kitchen,” she jokes, unlinking everything but their hands as she starts along the hall.

 

Jughead scoffs, following easily. “Your optimism astounds me, Cooper.” It’s a joke, and she laughs, but it falls heavy as a stone in the pit of her stomach.

.

.

.

“This is really good, Betty,” Jellybean says with a shy smile, wiping away the tomato sauce from her chin with a fist.

 

“Thanks, JB.” A flush of warmth spreads throughout her chest, and for just a while it’s a nice distraction from everything else.

 

“Seconded,” Jughead chimes through a mouthful of spaghetti. Betty glances at him fondly despite his manners, their knees touching beneath the table. She’s not hungry but she forces the pasta down anyway, knowing she needs to eat something.

 

“Can we watch a movie? Till Dad gets home? There’s popcorn in the cupboard.” Jellybean’s expression is hopeful. Betty can tell that she’s using the patented younger sibling techniques on Jughead right now—eyes slightly widened, lower lip just beginning to jut, a tilt of the head. Betty bites back a smile.

 

Jughead looks between the two of them, torn. “I don’t know, JB. It’s been a rough couple of days, maybe we should just get an early night.”

 

He’s doing it for her, Betty knows. Always putting her first. Always watching out. She loves him, so much. Guilt pokes at her stomach when Jellybean’s face falls. “C’mon, Jug. Just one movie won’t hurt. Please?” She tilts herself closer towards JB so they can stare him down together, smiling genuinely when Jellybean grins at her. “ _Please?”_ she teases.

 

Jughead sighs, shaking his head, betrayed by the smile lurking in the creases at the corners of his eyes. “I’m powerless against a coordinated attack. I’d like the record to show that I was outmanned in this instance.” He points an accusing finger.

 

Jellybean sticks her tongue out daintily as she bounds from the table. “Dibs on my pick!” she calls as she throws herself against the sofa cushions.

 

Betty rises too, gathering their plates to deposit in the sink, muscle memory working in overtime.

 

“Here, let me,” Jughead hurries, coming around the table to unburden her. She follows him into the kitchen anyway, hip resting against the counter as she watches him rinse and stack the dishes. “It’s nice of you to indulge JB,” Jughead smiles, wiping off his hands. “You know she’d understand if you didn’t—she’s a pretty smart kid. Kinda had to be.” His hand falls to the base of her spine, bringing her flush against him.

 

Betty settles her hands at the back of his neck, fingers combing softly through the short hairs there, peeking out from beneath the edge of his beanie. “I don’t doubt it. But it’s okay, really. And I know you’re just trying to make sure I’m alright, and I love you for it. But it’s your home and honestly… doing normal family things like making dinner and watching a movie sound really good right now.”

 

Jughead gazes down at her with that look that stirs something behind her navel, startles the butterflies nesting in her belly. “I love you, too,” he whispers against her mouth, leaning in to seal their lips together briefly, but for long enough that it steals her breath and wipes her mind of every other horrible thought.

 

He crowds her against the counter and Betty welcomes it. “I love doing family things with you.”

 

The burning in his eyes is so intense she has to look away, not wanting to let any more tears fall tonight. Instead she buries her nose in the crook of his neck and breathes.

.

.

.

There are braids in her hair by the time the front door clicks open and shut, a little after eleven. Betty had asked Jellybean if she’d mind showing her how she did the ones she had in her hair and she’d eagerly complied. Her fingers wove deftly through the golden strands and Jughead had given her a look so tender she feared she might crack in two.

 

Jellybean is curled against her left side, her slackened face pressed into Betty’s arm. Jughead is occupying her other side, his head tipped back against the cushions, hand still loosely linked with hers. Her hip is starting to protest at the angle it’s set in, but Betty’s never been more comfortable. The movie had ended long ago, but she’d quite enjoyed the predictable monotony of watching the screensaver play on repeat, uncompelled to move.

 

“Hey, Betty,” FP murmurs from the hall.

 

“Hi, FP,” she whispers back, trying not to jostle anyone as she looks over her shoulder.

 

FP huffs a laugh, taking in the sight. “Last man standing, huh?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

He falls into the armchair, resting his steepled fingers against his chin. “You staying the night?”

 

“If that’s alright with you.” He waves her away like she’d known he would. The etiquette changes a little when you go through what they’ve gone through in this town. The image of her mom—how she used to be—sitting in that chair, doing the same thing if she asked if Jughead could stay over, none of this having happened, is so past the realm of plausible she allows herself a smile. “How… how was work?”

 

FP rubs both hands over his face. “Not much to go on, kid, if I’m being honest.” Betty’s heart sinks, no matter how prepared she was for the answer. “The kills seem random, there’s no trail once he left the building. One thing did come back though.” Betty perks up. “Record of a bank transfer, untraceable for now, to the driver of the van that was transporting your— The Black Hood and the other prisoners to Hiram’s facility. Big money.”

 

“So it’s looking more likely that they’re working together then. The Gargoyle King and The Black Hood, I mean?” A spark of excitement flickers and fades, not strong enough to catch.

 

FP shrugs, slumping back into the chair. “It’s possible. Anything seems to be possible at this point.” Anger permeates his tone behind the weariness.

 

“You’re doing a great job, Sheriff Jones,” Betty says with a polite smile. “I doubt anything like this was in the official handbook,” she adds wryly.

 

FP chuckles, tipping his head back towards the ceiling. “Thanks, kid. You hanging in there?”

 

It catches her off guard. Jughead always checks if she’s okay with actions, signals, waiting for her to express if she’s not. Veronica distracts her to make sure she forgets it all. Archie gets flustered at the first sign of distress and sweeps her up in a hug. It’s been a while since anyone, simply, asked.

 

“I’m not sure,” Betty answers honestly. “I thought we were finally getting somewhere, that this could be over. And now we’re more in the dark than we were before. I don’t… know what to do now.” It’s the first time she’s admitted it out loud, and even as it increases the crushing pressure in her chest, something loosens inside her, a little piece falling away.

 

“Nobody really does. But what you can do is get some rest—you deserve it. Come on.” FP rises, switching off the TV simultaneously, scooping Jellybean up from the couch cushions and draping her over his shoulder. Instead of the hurt she expects to feel at the sight, Betty’s pleasantly surprised to only feel contentment. “Good night, Betty.”

 

“Night.”

 

She waits till the footsteps on the stairs quieten before leaning over to wake Jughead with a kiss. “Hey.”

 

“Hey,” he mumbles, bleary and uncoordinated as he wipes the sleep from his eyes. “What time is it?”

 

“Time for bed,” she whispers, tugging him with her as she gets up and heads for their room.

.

.

.

Betty always though their first shared room would be in a house of their own, or at least an apartment. Not that she’s had much time to daydream about the future. But in those moments where she can think of nothing more than what it’ll be like once they can get away from everything that holds them here, she _has_ pictured it.

 

She should have known that it wouldn’t be that conventional for them. The light carpet and pink walls are still the same. The bed frame and furniture were all once hers, and the cracks in the corners are the ones she used to stare at when she couldn’t sleep.

 

But now it smells like a Jughead’s deodorant and his fabric softener. The sheets on the bed are dark, and his film posters are tacked to the walls. His rings litter the vanity and his books are on the shelves. It’s an odd combination of his and hers, but Betty finds that she loves it wholeheartedly.

 

They crawl beneath the sheets, legs twining instantly, her head on his bare chest. “This is crazy,” Betty whispers after a moment of listening to their slow breaths filling the still air. She’s not even sure if he’s still awake.

 

Jughead’s hold on her tightens marginally. “When is it ever not with us?” he huffs. He always does that, a dry joke to diffuse the severity of their situation.

 

But Betty needs him to listen, has to tell him… “Edgar asked me to move to The Farm. That’s where I was going when I called you to pick me up earlier.” She waits, tense, counting the beats of his heart beneath her ear to measure the silence.

 

The sheets rustle as Jughead lifts himself onto an elbow, his thumb swiping across her warm cheek, looking down at her with a mixture of hurt and confusion. “What? You said yes?” Betty nods. “After everything they’ve done? Everything Edgar and Evelyn are responsible for? Why?”

 

“With The Black Hood running around again, Edgar is right—it’s probably the safest place for me now. It’ll be hard for my dad to get to me in the middle of the most vigilant cult ever. I mean, I’ve tried to sneak in their multiple times, it’s impossible not to get caught.”

 

“But what if they’re in on it? All those months of suspicion and what? You’re just forgetting it?” Betty can see, even in the dim light of the lamp by the bed, that Jughead isn’t judging her. He’s trying to understand, trying to make sense of her decisions. After everything they’ve been through Jughead is always supportive of her actions, but even Betty knows this one’s a lot to take in.

 

“I don’t have much choice.”

 

“You can stay here!” Jughead says desperately, cupping her cheek. “You can stay here, and me and Dad can protect you. We’d never let anything bad happen to you, Betty.”

 

“I know that,” she cuts in quickly. “I believe that with my whole heart. But I can’t put you in that kind of danger.” At his attempt to cut in she continues quickly. “I can’t put Jellybean in that kind of danger. There’s no telling what kind of tricks The Black Hood might pull to get to me, what his plan is. And I’m not going to have you and your family right in the middle of it.”

 

“But I _want_ to be in the middle of it,” Jughead pleads, dropping her forehead to hers.

 

Betty closes her eyes for a second, sucking in a steady breath. She pushes against Jughead’s chest gently, tipping him back into the mattress. She swings a leg over his body, settling against his lap and leaning down to cup his face firmly. “I want you there, too. I’m not saying to stay out of it.” She pauses to lay a kiss against his lips. He chases her when she pulls away. “I thought I didn’t have it left in me to fight this anymore. I was so close to giving up. But being here, with you and Jellybean and FP. Feeling this. Knowing I can get through to my mom this way. That’s what’s going to keep me fighting. My family. Everyone I love. I kept wondering what I had that made me think I could win this fight against The Black Hood, or even The Gargoyle King. And it’s you. It’s all of you. I need you safe. I love you, Jughead. Always.”

 

His lips are on hers in seconds, pulling all air from her lungs. She pushes back just as forcefully, gripping his shoulders, his arms, moving her fingers to slide through his hair, tugging on the curls until he moans into her mouth. His hands are everywhere too, beneath her borrowed shirt, cupping her breasts as he whispers affirmations of love against her lips with her own breath.

 

She’s touch-starved and finally feasting, a hunger awakening in the pit of her stomach that doesn’t feel like it’ll ever be satiated.

 

His kisses trail along her neck, stopping to suck gently at her collarbone. She whines and he hushes her, coaxing the movement her hips have started, circling against his. Betty feels him harden beneath her and wants more, to feel more. Her shirt is abandoned quickly, allowing the skin on skin contact she so desperately craves right now. Jughead falls back against the pillows with a shove, Betty needing this moment to be hers, to be in control of the sensations coursing through her body. He goes willingly where she puts him, a look of awe never leaving his eyes, and it’s all so much she feels as if her blood is singing.

 

Betty kisses her way down his chest, slipping her hand beneath his boxers as she goes. The sounds that escape his lips as she moves her fist go straight between her legs, spurring her movements. She doesn’t want delicate, or tender. She wants to feel strong, in control, and beautiful. She is no fool.

 

“Betty, c’mere,” Jughead gets out between clenched teeth, drawing her back up the bed, muscles in his stomach tense. “Please, come here.”

 

As soon as he can reach he kisses her, one hand winding through her hair as the other fumbles with the bedside drawer. She takes the condom from him, hastily rolling it on and shifting until she can sink down onto him fully, a sigh leaving her throat.

 

They move together, but Jughead still leaves the power in her hands. She twists and moves on top of him, giving just as much as she takes, nails digging into his shoulder blades when she feels the tension building, a spring ready to snap. Jughead’s hand snakes down between them to rub at her lightly, and Betty kisses him with as much energy as she can muster to smother the noise she wants to make. He comes not long after, their skin sticky with each other’s sweat, muscles strained and tired as they curl together beneath the sheets.

 

“I know you can take care of yourself,” Jughead murmurs into the darkness long after Betty thinks he’s succumbed to sleep. “But just remember that you don’t have to.” His words are slurred with tiredness, but it doesn’t lessen their impact at all.

 

“I know,” she whispers into the skin of his collarbone, turning into him with the hope that they could just melt together.

 

She fights sleep for as long as possible, knowing she’ll wake with nightmares, knowing that once the sun begins to streak the sky she’ll have to face The Farm and everything that comes with it. But right now it’s enough to count the rhythmic thump of Jughead’s heartbeats and tell herself that this is what she’s fighting for.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, if you enjoyed a comment is much appreciated <3


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